


Spoiled Cat

by Saetha



Series: O Swallow, have mercy on them [Febuwhump 2021 Prompt Fills] [22]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anti-Witcher Sentiments, Burning at a Stake, Burns, Cuddling & Snuggling, FebuWhump2021, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Purring Witchers (The Witcher), Soft Lambert (The Witcher), no beta we die like Lambert’s prickly exterior in Aiden’s presence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29632077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: “Don’t tell me you were worried about me, Wolf.”Lambert frowns, catching his hand and leaning into his touch. He’s missed him, missed the way that Aiden can always make him feel calm, no matter the storm brewing inside him.“Wouldn’t have had to be if it weren’t for a certain stupid Cat almost getting himself burned alive,” he says, without any heat. “How’d they catch you in the first place, anyway?”*Lambert has to save Aiden from an angry mob that's trying to burn him at a stake and see to it that his partner recovers as well as possible.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: O Swallow, have mercy on them [Febuwhump 2021 Prompt Fills] [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138178
Comments: 13
Kudos: 55
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Spoiled Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Some Lambert/Aiden! We all need more Lambert love in our lives, no? (Don't worry, they'll be more where that came from this month, too!)
> 
> Today's prompt was: Burned

Lambert had been having a good day.

For once, he’d received more than accurate compensation for a contract that had turned out far easier than he’d first thought – the suspected leshen in the forest had actually been no more than two wraiths, and relatively weak ones at that. He hadn’t been harassed once by the villagers throughout the entire day, had spent the night in a soft bed and started the day with a hearty, well-cooked breakfast in the inn before getting on his way again. To improve matters even further, his meeting with Aiden was only a day away, and the thought of what they would be getting up to over the next week was enough to paint a smile on even the sourest of faces. And, as if to bolster his already great mood, the sun was shining, warming the fresh spring air until it was neither too hot nor too cold.

All in all, a truly perfect day.

Lambert is whistling as he urges his horse into a slightly faster trot. In this sort of weather and with all the new supplies he can make good time, maybe be a little early for their rendezvous at the abandoned hut that has served many a Witcher as accommodation over the years. If he times it just right, he can already pre-warm their bedrolls a little, get a fired started and cook one of Aiden’s favourite meals, a hearty fish stew with some trout if he can catch any in the stream nearby.

He does indeed make good time throughout the day and is greeted by the sight of another village around dusk. His nose catches the scent of a fire even before he sees the smoke rising, his ears picking up some loud chatter. A bonfire, perhaps? Lambert spurs his horse to cover the remaining distance even faster. A bonfire usually means a celebration, which means villagers in an unusually good mood and, even more importantly, a large amount of food. Perhaps Lambert is even luckier than he thought, and he will be able to enjoy a real feast tonight.

He rounds the corner to the village square, and all of his good cheer vanishes immediately. This is a bonfire of a sort, yes – but not of the kind he had hoped to find. Instead, there is a stake in the middle of the fire that has just begun to burn. Tied to it is a man, head hanging low so that his face is invisible, but Lambert would have recognised him even amongst a crowd of hundreds.

“Fuck!” he yells.

He digs his heels into his horse’s flanks, stopping only shortly before the stake. Lambert is barely thinking when he pulls his steel sword and bares his teeth at the assembled villagers. In contrast to his expectations, there only seem to be ordinary townspeople here, accompanied by a priest who had apparently been in the middle of a sermon. Hardly the kind of crowd that could take down a Witcher and tie him to a stake. It soon becomes clear, however, how they had managed to subdue _this_ Witcher in particular – over the acrid stench of smoke, Lambert can smell the telltale signs of poison, mixed with some sort of strong sleeping draught. Although not truly dangerous when taken on their own, the mixture must have been potent enough to bring down even a Witcher.

He curses again, more loudly this time. If they have killed Aiden, have killed _his Cat_ by sheer stupid coincidence alone…but no, if he strains, he can still hear his heartbeat, or so he at least he hopes.

“If any of your fuckers dare to move even a little finger, you’ll wish you’ve never been born,” he hisses. Usually, he makes an effort to appear at least marginally civilised, but now he leans into being a Witcher, bares his teeth with fangs just a little too long and sharp to be a human, contracts his pupils for a moment so that they are no more than slits even if it costs him his sight for a precious second or two. It has its intended effect - none of the villagers move a single muscle, not even the priest.

The man tied to the stake groans a little as the flames burn higher, beginning to singe his right leg and boots. Thankfully, the villagers had relied mostly on their concoctions to keep their victim restrained. It is easy work to slice through the ropes tying him to the stake, once Lambert has cast Quen and jumped up on the little platform they built. He catches Aiden as he falls over, frantically slaps at the Cat’s leg and bare hand where the flames are doing their merry dance.

Somehow, he manages to keep hold of Aiden when they tumble down the platform. He rolls them both on the floor, desperate to put out the flames and get back to his feet before the villagers can decide they would like to have a go at killing two Witchers for the price of one today. Aiden is still barely conscious, groaning quietly, his head lolling as Lambert hoists him upright and whistles for his horse. His mare, bless the gods, obediently walks closer, although she still stays well away from the flames. Lambert can hardly fault her. He drags Aiden over to her and somehow manages to manoeuvre both of them into the saddle, urging his horse into a gallop as soon as they are seated even somewhat securely.

He doesn’t look back as they leave, doesn’t spare his horse until they are far, far away.

*

“Aiden? Hey, Cat. Fuck. Aiden?” Lambert slaps Aiden’s cheeks as gently as he can, tries to rouse the Witcher from whatever stupor the villager’s concoction has put him in. Aiden makes a weak noise, but remains still otherwise, much to Lambert’s dismay. They’re in their usual abandoned hut, far enough away from the village that Lambert is fairly certain nobody will try and follow them here.

“C’mon. Don’t fucking do this to me.” Lambert renews his efforts, this time with a little more vigour, but Aiden doesn’t really move or respond, although his breathing and heartbeat remain regular for now. Lambert spits out a curse and turns to dig around in his pack of potions, each one of them neatly labelled with the complicated system of symbols he’d invented to keep any curious snoopers from reading them. Ah, there. White Honey.

He manoeuvres his body until he is leaning against the wall behind Aiden and can draw up the Cat’s body against him so that Aiden’s head is pillowed on his chest. Somehow he manages to pry his mouth open and get at least some of the potion down his throat. A more romantic soul than his probably would’ve sealed his little action with a kiss, but he is far too busy making sure that Aiden doesn’t choke, one arm slung around his chest as he closes his eyes and listens for any sign that it might be taking effect, purging the remaining toxins from Aiden’s body. It’s a risk, he knows, since he doesn’t know what they’ve given him, but he’d rather have his Cat here with him and awake than caught in some sort of coma that he can’t be sure he’ll ever wake up from.

It takes a moment for the White Honey to work its way through Aiden’s system. The first sign of it is a change in Aiden’s breathing – deeper, more active. Lambert fights the urge to hold him close, remembering all too well the last time Aiden had woken up with his arms wrapped around him after a bout of unconsciousness. He still has the scars. _Like a true cat_ , Lambert muses as he gently eases Aiden down on the floor, head pillowed by his cloak.

He waits until Aiden’s eyes open on their own, until his Cat sits up with a gasp, chest heaving and eyes wide. Aiden’s gaze alights on Lambert and he sits back with a little huff, the fight instantly going out of him.

“Hey,” Lambert says, trying not to betray the abundant amount of relief travelling through his chest right now. “It’s all good. You’re safe now.”

Aiden’s eyes dart around the place, taking in the rotting walls of the shack, the little fire Lambert has built, their supplies on the floor. “Wha-“

“Found you in a village some distance away. They were evidently planning on grilled Witcher being the main attraction of the evening.” Lambert frowns. “Grabbed you and brought you here.”

“Ah.” Aiden reaches up and scratches his head, hissing when he notices the burns on his hand and arm.

“Hey, hey careful.” Lambert leans over, desperate to touch Aiden now that he’s lucid again, to make sure that the burns are the only damage he’s received. “I’m sorry for not bandaging them already. Wanted to make sure you’d wake up again first.”

Something soft shimmers in Aiden’s eyes when he looks at him, somehow still taller than Lambert even when he’s sitting down, and Lambert is crouching next to him. He reaches out with his uninjured arm this time, tracing the scars on the right side of Lambert’s face with a gentle touch.

“Don’t tell me you were worried about me, Wolf.”

Lambert frowns, catching his hand and leaning into his touch. He’s missed him, missed the way that Aiden can always make him feel calm, no matter the storm brewing inside him.

“Wouldn’t have had to be if it weren’t for a certain stupid Cat almost getting himself burned alive,” he says, without any heat. “How’d they catch you in the first place, anyway?”

“I don’t remember,” Aiden frowns. “I came here on the way through, found a contract for what looked like a couple of drowners on the notice board. Sounded like simple enough work to get done quickly and get some extra coin from, so I went to the alderman. He offered a drink to toast on the contract. Didn’t smell anything funny, but it must’ve been laced with something pretty strong. There’s some hazy memories of fire, but that’s it. Next thing I know I woke up here, not far from your loving arms.”

“You need to be more careful.” Lambert busies himself with getting the supplies to treat Aiden’s burns so that he can’t see his hands shaking. It had been so close. Far too close. If he hadn’t happened to come by the village when he did…

“Well, not everybody is as paranoid as you Wolf lot.” Aiden shifts a little so he’s sitting in a more comfortable position, carefully avoiding moving his leg or burned hand.

“Says the Cat of all people,” Lambert snorts and turns back around again. Aiden shrugs and laughs a little at that. “Give me your hand. Let’s get these burns looked after.”

Aiden obediently holds out his hand, hissing only a little when Lambert does his best to clean the burns, spread a cooling salve on it and wrap them very lightly to keep dirty from getting into them whilst still letting the wounds breathe. Aiden looks uncomfortable, but doesn’t shift, bearing Lambert’s careful ministrations with a long-suffering sigh, although the pain is visible in the tension thrumming through his body.

“Hey. You alright?” Lambert looks at Aiden’s leg, which doesn’t seem as bad as his hand, protected by the leather of his pants and boots. “Want a break before we continue?”

“A moment, maybe,” Aiden pants. Lambert wordlessly hands him something to drink, and Aiden takes it with a grateful nod. He closes his eyes as the cool water runs down his throat and Lambert reaches out to rub his back. Aiden automatically leans into his touch, a small smile pulling at his lips as he arches his back a little.

“Hey, don’t get too comfortable.” Lambert nudges his leg, above the burns. “We still have to look after that.”

Aiden pouts a little, but he does open his eyes again and obediently stretches out the injured limb.

“Spoilsport,” he mumbles through gritted teeth when Lambert begins to clean out the burns and treat them. One of his hands has makes its way to Lambert’s knee, gripping tightly and Lambert mumbles a quiet apology. No matter how many times this happens, how many times they are patching each other up, he’ll never get used to seeing Aiden in pain.

He leans back with a sigh once he’s finally done, and offers Aiden some more water to drink, plus a vial of Swallow. Aiden takes both with a grateful little noise, before flopping back onto the bedroll. Something seems to bother him, however, because he frowns and twists back and forth a little, before sitting upright again.

“Come here?” he asks Lambert with a pleading little look. “Let me put my head in your lap? It’s warm. And more comfortable.” Lambert sighs.

“Why did I have to end up with the most spoiled of all Cats?” he wonders, already moving around Aiden so that he can sit down at the head of his bedroll. Aiden whines a little, half-heartedly slapping at Lambert’s leg as he walks past.

“’m not spoiled,” he mumbles, arching his back with a grateful sigh when Lambert pulls him up so that he can rest his head on Lambert’s crossed legs. “It’s just, you’re so _nice_. Feel so good. I love being close to you.”

Lambert can’t help the indulgent little smile crossing over his face. He knows more than one person in Kaer Morhen who would have objected to Lambert ever being called ‘nice’. They are all dead now, though, and he’s here with his Cat purring softly in his lap, so he definitely feels like the winner of this particular battle. He digs his fingers into Aiden’s hair and begins massaging his scalp, the exact way that he knows Aiden likes.

Aiden sighs deeply and relaxes almost immediately under his touch, limbs sprawled bonelessly over the floor and Lambert’s lap as he falls asleep again. It has nothing of the uneasy and unnatural stillness he had been in earlier, and all the signs of a relaxed and hopefully healing sleep. Lambert bends down to press a little kiss on his hair, feeling his heart flutter at the automatic smile that crosses Aiden’s face.

He’ll do his damndest to keep this Cat of his alive, come whatever may.


End file.
